


Five Times

by Lassenby



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)
Genre: Exposition, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Memories, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 06:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2218482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassenby/pseuds/Lassenby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In as long as Drax had known Rocket, he'd hurt him five times that he could remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times

In as long as Drax had known Rocket, he'd hurt him five times that he could remember. They had mostly been accidents, and he regretted all of them. Tonight, like many nights, he found himself unable to sleep, and he mulled over the memories in the way someone might poke a sore in their mouth with their tongue, welcoming each burst of fresh pain.

 _This vermin speaks of affairs he knows nothing about!_ he had shouted, and Drax knew it was the way he said that to Quill, with Rocket standing right there, that had hurt him the most. Not the 'v' word, although that could have helped. It was the way you would tell a person that their pet had defecated on the floor again, maybe wagging a finger at them, maybe shoving their face in it. Drax had thought of Rocket as an animal then. That had been a different Drax, one he couldn't get into the head of anymore, a self-indulgent ghost obsessed with revenge. He was embarrassed of that self, and how he'd treated his friend.

Of course, he'd been asking for it, Drax thought, and smiled. He certainly hadn't been smiling then. The brazen little bastard had gotten too drunk and started mouthing off, making jokes about Hovat. _Did she dress like you?_ He'd slurred, punctuating the question with a hiccup. _Big, blue boobies, flapping in the wind?_ And thrown his head back and laughed, and Drax had lunged at him. Unsuspecting drunks and gamblers staggered out of his path. Before his fist could connect with Rocket's jaw, Groot had come out of nowhere, tendrils wrapping around Drax's arms, tethering him just out of reach.

“You simpleton,” Drax had spat, straining against the surprisingly strong vines that held him back. “You only concern yourself with the garments of others because you feel ridiculous in your own! You are nothing more than an animal. You wear clothing, and pretend to belong among people, but you are only fooling yourself.” And Drax had grinned, even as Groot lost his temper and tossed him across the table as easily as a ragdoll, even as Rocket's face crumpled.

In the present, Drax relished the sting of guilt, because he deserved it. Rocket stirred beside him, disturbed by some nightmare. Drax watched as the bare shoulders seized with panicked gasps for air, and his whiskers twitched, lips curling into a pained grimace. Then Drax gently touched the ruffled fur at the base of Rocket's neck, and ran his large hand slowly down his back, over the scars and ports, which he had always been self-conscious about, but Drax had never minded. _Scars tell a story_ , he'd told Rocket, when he finally revealed them. _These tell me a story about a brave warrior, forged in the kiln of unspeakable pain, and made stronger for it. Made into a.. a real bad-ass._ Rocket had liked that. He'd kissed him for it.

Drax remembered the first time Rocket tried to kiss him. That had been the second of the five painful times. Under his gentle touch, Rocket's fur settled and his breathing became deep and even, and Drax wanted so badly to join him in that peaceful state, but it seemed that he had more reminiscing to do before his thoughts would let him sleep. He allowed himself to remember.

Rocket had been drunk again. He and Drax were alone on the Milano for some reason, although he could not recall why. Perhaps Groot had been there too, in another part of the ship. What he did remember was Rocket slouched over the table downstairs, an empty bottle in one hand, forming some obscene gesture with the other, laughing and cursing, and generally being his own foul self. Drax had begun to like him by that point, but not considered him as a romantic partner. He believed Rocket was only interested in females. For instance, all the obscene gestures he made represented acts between men and women.

But Rocket had been behaving strangely that night. A musky smell permeated the cabin, one that Drax didn't recognize, but didn't find entirely unpleasant. And Rocket kept saying that he was too hot and fanning himself, Drax suddenly remembered. He smiled. The little mammal had been all over the place that night, and bustling with odd mannerisms- stretching often, so his shirt lifted up and revealed a strip of soft belly fur, and bending over the table so his tail stuck up in the air, and practically stumbling into Drax's lap at every turn. Now Drax knew that Rocket had been in heat, and had been trying to seduce him in his drunken fashion.

And in a way, it had worked. Drax's pants had been too tight all that evening, and his face was flushed, but at the time he'd thought that he had just imbibed too much alcohol. He certainly didn't associate the peculiar feeling with his obviously straight teammate. Even when Rocket sat on the table in front of Drax, laughing and teasing him about something, and put aside his bottle for the first time all night, he still didn't get it. And when Rocket stopped laughing and leaned forward, Drax had reached up to halt him.

He groaned, and then worried it would disturb his partner, but Rocket didn't even twitch. That was an old memory. It had to be at least... Drax counted in his head. At least six years past. He could hardly believe it had been that long, because his shame was as fresh as ever. Drax had thought Rocket slipped off the table in his drunken stupor. That was why he reached up automatically to catch him, and hold him back on the edge, and incidentally away from himself. Rocket's _face._ Drax loved those expressive eyes more than anything else in the world, and lived for the unguarded affection they sometimes revealed, and for their bright glimmer of mischief, but they were a double-edged sword. Because when Rocket was hurt, just the sight of his face could make Drax cry.

He could have cried just remembering the way Rocket's dark eyes snapped open then, registering surprise, and then embarrassment. His dark lips had turned down at the corners, and before Drax could ask him what was wrong, he'd scurried off the table. _M'sorry,_ he'd mumbled, standing on the ground with his back to Drax. He'd looked so small and slouched. _I... I gotta go to bed._ Drax asked him why, because he had seemed wide awake just a moment ago, but Rocket shrugged and said goodnight without turning around, and hurried off to his quarters.

Drax decided to go to bed shortly after that- In present day, he suddenly remembered that they hadn't been alone on the ship after all, but it had been so late that the others had already retired to their rooms- and decided to check in on Rocket. He'd entered the quarters without knocking, perhaps because he didn't want to wake his friend if he had already fallen asleep, but more likely it was just because Drax always forgot little social courtesies like knocking. Rocket was not sleeping. They locked eyes, and for an eternity they remained both frozen by shock, Rocket with his dick in his hand, and Drax with his own stiffening in his pants.

“Sorry!” Drax burst out at last, so loudly that he might have woken the other crew members. In his confusion, he had let the door swoosh shut behind him, so the sound probably wouldn't carry, at least. Rocket finally grabbed the blanket and covered himself. Drax was still acutely aware of the bulge where his friend's erection was covered by the sheets, and looked away.

“What the flarkin' hell! Y'ever hear of knocking?”

Drax apologized again, stumbling over the words, somehow activated the door switch through the fog of embarrassment, and stepped into the hall. He was halfway to his own quarters when, out of the blue, he remembered the table incident, and understood that Rocket had been trying to kiss him. After that... Well, that had been the start of things, hadn't it? Drax had gone back to apologize. He'd done a thorough job of it.

Thinking about that night, Drax started to get aroused. He rolled onto his side and wrapped an arm around Rocket, half-hoping that he would wake up and they could have a middle of the night tryst. But Rocket slept soundly, and he just snuggled back against Drax's body and mumbled in his sleep. Drax kissed the top of his head. With a sleepy grunt, Rocket rolled over to face Drax's chest, and groped around. His tiny claws scrabbled around Drax's sides and he suppressed a laugh at the tickling sensation. The small hands drifted down, across his hips, and then...

Drax gasped as Rocket stroked his length. He seemed to be asleep still, pulling and petting by muscle memory alone, as he sometimes did in the night. Sometimes he woke Drax with his sleepy fumblings, and then Drax would wake him by returning the favor. But tonight the man's mind drifted. Rocket's groping sent shivers all through him, and as he rested his chin between his furry ears, he thought about the third time that he'd accidentally hurt his mate.

But not to that part, not at first. What he first thought about was the preceding events, because that had been the first time Rocket had gone down on him, which was pretty significant. It had been months after their initial clumsy gropings, that time when Drax walked in on Rocket taking care of himself. They'd been sneaking into each other's rooms nearly every night since then. But Rocket was nervous about doing anything more than touching, and Drax didn't know why, and still hadn't found out by that night when Rocket came to him with an embarrassed expression and grumbled, _Take yer' clothes off and lay down, and don't... move around too much. 'kay?”_ Drax had no idea what he was up to, not until Rocket wriggled down between his thighs and tentatively touched his tongue to the tip of Drax's dick.

He had been embarrassingly out of control of himself that night, moaning and writhing under Rocket's administrations, but Rocket had liked that. Before long, the raccoon's hands had worked up and down on Drax's shaft while his mouth bobbed around the head, and he'd been so careful, Drax remembered, with another pang of guilt. He didn't scratch with his sharp teeth, even though it must have been difficult. And then Drax had ruined all of it.

Of course, he'd been blinded by pleasure, made stupid by it, but that was no excuse. In another minute, he would have climaxed. In the heat of the moment, he had grabbed Rocket's shoulders and thrust into his muzzle, and made him gag. Drax had pulled away immediately when he heard. But that was too late, and Rocket leaped up without saying anything, and gone to sit at the foot of the bed. He'd faced away, like he always did when emotions overwhelmed him. Drax wasn't surprised that it had upset him. What _did_ surprise him was the way Rocket's shoulders hitched, and the soft snuffling sounds of crying.

Drax apologized immediately, but knew there was more to it, something he couldn't make up for. Later that night, after Rocket calmed down, he told Drax about the years before Groot. Everyone knew that Rocket had been in prison many times. Drax had never before considered that one of those times had been the first time, and Rocket had been alone and scared then, and he'd turned to the wrong prisoners for help. They had taken advantage of his body, because Rocket had been unable to fight them off on his own, and because they'd told him that if they didn't do it, someone bigger would. The whole thing made Rocket particularly wary of being forced. That was why the situation with Drax upset him so much, because it had brought back the old helplessness.

“I'm so sorry,” Drax whispered, mumbling the words against the fur on top of Rocket's head. The hands on his lower region stopped pawing then, as their owner sighed off to a deeper plane of sleep. That was probably for the best. Drax knew from experience that Rocket wouldn't have minded if he what he was doing, but the issue of consent felt dubious, and the recent train of thought left a sick knot in Drax's stomach.

As Rocket relaxed and snuggled against Drax's chest, he let the rest of that memory come to him, the good part. It took place a couple days afterward. Drax had assumed their arrangement was off, and had been disappointed, but understood. He cared for Rocket as much more than a sexual partner. But then the familiar lithe figure had returned to his bed one night, with that glitter of mischief in his eyes. Drax had been beside himself with gratitude.

 _I got an idea,_ Rocket had said. _On how we can make things fair, so I don't... you know, freak out._ Drax had been willing to try anything. When Rocket showed him the handcuffs, his first reaction had been one of confusion. He'd told Rocket that he felt remorse for the incident before, but he didn't believe it to be a crime, and offered to ask Corpsman Dey for clarification. Rocket had called him an idiot, but said the word as if he really meant something like 'love of my life', and Drax still prickled to think about it.

Then Rocket had asked if he'd mind being cuffed to the bedframe with his hands over his head, and of course Drax raised no objections. Rocket continued where he'd left off. Drax had gasped and trembled, but he kept hold of himself, was desperate not to hurt his partner again, but as he neared his peak, Rocket stopped. He'd blushed and ordered Drax not to stare at him when he did it. _Do what?_ Drax asked, but already his mate moved into position to ride him.

Now Rocket snored softly in bed beside him, and it was all Drax could to keep from bucking his hips against the warm, furry body. Instead he slid a hand down between them and stroked himself distractedly, lost in thought. Suddenly, absurdly, he thought of his wife. Or perhaps that wasn't so absurd. After all, for many years Hovat had been Drax's only partner, so if sometimes he closed his eyes and her pale, narrow body arched in his mind, if he saw her breasts, and backside, and elegant neck, could anyone blame him for that?

But he stopped rubbing himself. The image of his wife had startled up the memory of the fourth time he hurt Rocket, and now he would have to dutifully follow the winding path of that thought to it's terminus.

That had been almost a year after he and Rocket began their... well, that had been the problem, Drax considered. They had both been reluctant to put a name on their relationship. Sometimes one of them would bring it up, usually when they were spent, and drowsing together in bed, but in lighthearted tones. _My lover,_ Rocket teased. _My boyfriend, the maniac._ And another time, Drax had jokingly called Rocket a word that in his language meant 'soulmate', and translated it for Rocket when he asked. Then they'd had sex again. Looking back, Drax realized that the two things had been connected, and had been a fool not to notice it, but the mind was a window, not a door, and he was helpless to warn himself.

If they had seriously discussed what they were to each other, Drax would perhaps have called Rocket his companion, a friend with whom he enjoyed certain intimacies. But Rocket... he would have said something like _pseros,_ the word that meant soulmate. But they had not discussed it, so after they made love again- Drax now knew, that was what they had been doing- and Rocket sighed that word, Drax replied with the worst possible thing.

 _Hovat would have my hide for using that term in jest, particularly for anyone besides her._ He had meant it to be funny, which he should have known to avoid anyways. Drax's sense of humor rarely tickled anyone else. But Rocket usually laughed at his jokes, either because he was different from the rest, or because he didn't want Drax to feel bad, but on that night, the raccoon was silent as a stone. At first Drax had thought that Rocket had fallen asleep already. It wouldn't have been the first time.

But when he looked down at his partner, Rocket's eyes had been fixed on the ceiling, his mouth set in a grim, straight line. It was the face he made when fighting tears. Drax's heart had leaped into his throat. _What is the matter?_ Rocket shook his head, and his mouth opened but nothing came out, so as usual, he rolled to face away from Drax. By that time, the two of them had been close enough for Drax to know that he'd messed up. He'd tried to pet his partner's back, but been swatted away. Later, Rocket told him that he'd been literally winded by Drax's casual admission, which he'd interpreted as him saying that their relationship was no more than a sexual arrangement after all, and not romantic, as Rocket had begun to consider it.

Drax had not known what to do. For a long time he just watched Rocket, wondering what might have bothered him, until he remembered how sometimes he got quiet and awkward when he mentioned his wife. He didn't know what to tell Rocket about that. He couldn't lie and say that his loyalties did not lie with his family. Although entire planes of existence lay between them, he still loved Hovat with every beat of heart.

But, Drax had realized then, with a hitch in his chest, that he loved Rocket as well. Without thinking, he whispered a song from his childhood. It was a song his parents used to sing together, when they cleaned or cooked, or when his father returned from a long wartime deployment, and his mother cried with joy to see his scarred old face again. Like his parents before, Drax sung. _Oceans wept. Mountains slept. Sidewalks crumble to ash. Your name remains in children's lullabies, and your eyes forever in the sky._

Rocket had peered over his shoulder, curious. _What're ya doing? Are you... singing?_ And Drax had moved closer and embraced him from behind, and buried his face in the fur around Rocket's neck, breathing in that strange mix of animal and electric smells. Muffled, he continued. _Your eyes appear in every one of my dreams, they glitter and they gleam, like the first time we meet._

Rocket had admonished Drax for being a sap, and for saying whatever he thought would get him back into good graces, but he'd also hugged Drax's forearm close and his shed a few tears against the man's fingers.

Back in the present day, Rocket startled awake, derailing Drax's thought. A cry for help slipped from his lips as he struggled across the barrier of consciousness. He stared up at Drax, eyes wide but unseeing, and then a light came into them, and he blinked.

“I... d'ast. Sorry, babe. Did I wake you?” he asked, a hand reaching up to rest on Drax's cheek Drax shook his head.

“I have not been able to sleep. Did you have a nightmare?”

“Of course,” Rocket said bitterly.

“Which one, if you do not mind me asking?” Drax ran his own hand over Rocket's back, careful not to put pressure on the implants, and teased his bushy tail.

Rocket hesitated, and his silence told Drax exactly which nightmare it had been. The one where where he suffocated, limbs locked by terror, watching the bands of light recede far overhead. Finally Rocket said, “Don't worry about it, it ain't important. Hey, since we're up anyway...” Rocket grinned and groped around, but Drax was distracted again. He tried to go along with it, running his hands over Rocket's furry rear, fingers slipping between his thighs and brushing his sac, making him gasp, but-

Drax had dove into the lake with a tremendous splash, filled with panic as the bubbles obscured his vision, and been unable to locate Rocket in the murky water. He might have died-- Drax might have killed him-- if not for Groot. Roots filled the water all around Drax, reaching, searching, tendril feelers extending from the limbs. Once the bubbles cleared, he felt trapped by those roots, and nearly drowned before returning for air. Peter and Gamora's worried faces greeted him. When they saw that he didn't have Rocket in his arms, they looked at him with horror, like he was a murderer, which he might have been. But at that moment, Groot was already hauling Rocket's limp body to the surface.

“Babe?” Rocket asked. “You okay? You're kind of...” he made a gesture with his finger, bending it in the middle, and Drax blushed.

“I was thinking about something else.”

Rocket raised an eyebrow. “Uh huh, that's flattering.”

“You were doing a suitable... a more than suitable... job. I did not mean my distraction as an insult to you. However...” He didn't know how to continue the thought. He was reluctant to admit that he had been thinking about the fifth, and worst, time he'd hurt his mate.

Rocket read it in his face. “Flark. What d'ya want me to say? You know I forgive you for that. I should've told you that I cant swim, so it wasn't yer' fault.”

“I did not have to throw you in.”

“Well, yeah, that would have been good.” But Rocket smiled. “You were just tryin' to get me to lighten up, though. I was being a stick in the mud. Listen, that's in the past. Can't we forget it?”

But Drax was still remembering. Everyone had gone to the lake that day, and Rocket hadn't wanted to, but went along to be with Drax. They'd been together for over a year at that point-- together, they'd declared, at least in private-- and had become inseparable. Drax played in the water with Gamora and Peter, splashing, and feeling younger than he had in a long time, and swam out in the deep, enjoying the cool water over his bare skin. When he'd returned to the shore, Rocket was exactly where he'd left him, huddled on the dock with his arms around his knees.

Drax had picked him up without consideration. He'd felt giddy, intoxicated by the warm, lazy afternoon with friends. He didn't notice the panic in Rocket's eyes before he tossed him into the water, expecting him to emerge right away, laughing, and how could Drax have known about the crater at the bottom of the lake there, making that part of the lake so much deeper than the rest? Groot had known. Somehow he sensed his friends distress all the way from where he stood in the nearby forest, and halted his meditation at once, tearing through the thicket to reach Rocket.

Even then, he almost hadn't made it. When Groot dredged Rocket out of the water, he'd looked like a dead thing, like a drowned cat in a sack, and Drax's heart had stopped. Then Groot had laid him on the ground. Then he did the same procedure on Rocket that he'd done before on Drax, after he'd nearly been killed by Ronan, and then the small, soggy creature spit water and thrashed, eyes wide and wild, and couldn't be calmed down for such a long time, not even by Groot. And Drax... he couldn't bring himself to try.

Later he'd learned about how Rocket's cybernetic parts made him too heavy to swim, and that he might not have been able to anyways, because being submerged in liquid was one of his worst triggers. Suspension in a tank full of fluid had been Rocket's earliest memory. That, and the pain. The scientists had been meticulous in their breaking and setting of bones, in the addition of organs and metal parts, and in stitching the whole mess back together, but they hadn't cared about Rocket's comfort. He'd felt all of it through the insufficient anesthetic.

Drax realized that he was crying. Rocket looked sadly at him, and wiped the larger man's eyes with the back of his hand. “Come on. Look at me, I'm alright.”

“You nearly died,” Drax said plainly.

“But I didn't!” When Drax seemed unswayed, Rocket sighed. “What about that night? Do ya' remember that?”

For some reason, Drax couldn't. How had he approached Rocket, when he finally did? He couldn't imagine any apology that would have been enough. Rocket must have seen the look in his eyes as he mulled it over, because he laughed.

“You really don't! An' here I thought it was a big deal. Quill flipped his shit. If you don't remember the rest of it, I thought that'd stick.”

And suddenly it came back to him, all at once. Drax had finally left his quarters that evening, slinking around shamefully, still too afraid to face Rocket. He found the whole crew sitting around the table, playing poker. Rocket looked very small, wrapped in a blanket, sitting on a stool so he was high enough to rest his elbows on the table, and he'd looked up at once when Drax entered the room. He'd only meant to peer in, but he crossed the room as though pulled by a magnetic force. He stood before Rocket, wracked with shame, barely able to meet his eyes, and... what had Rocket said? _Hey. Did you get a look at Gamora's cards? She's been takin' me to the cleaners all night._ And smiled at Drax like nothing had happened between them.

“I kissed you,” Drax said.

Rocket patted him on the cheek. “There ya go, I knew you wouldn't forget something like that! Remember how Quill's mouth fell open? And he retched! I think he was hamming it up, but I donno, humans can be so narrow minded. And Gamora acted like she knew it all along. She might've, too, she's pretty quick.”

“Not as quick as me,” Drax growled, as he swept Rocket into his arms and pinned him for a kiss. Rocket uttered a surprised little _mmph!_ , just like he had back then. Then his eyes fluttered closed and he relaxed against Drax's lips, and wrapped his arms around his neck. Drax felt the stirring of Rocket's arousal pressed between their bodies.

“Wow,” Rocket gasped, when Drax released him at last. “What'd I do to deserve that, huh?”

Drax nuzzled his neck before replying, “You stayed. I did not deserve it, with my dishonorable conduct, yet you never held it against me.”

“That's cos' I love you, ya' oaf. And I know your heart is in the right place. Now, let's see if we can put some of your other bits in the right place, huh?” he teased, whiskers twitching, because even though Rocket was a foul-mouthed, vulgar creature, it always embarrassed him to talk dirty. Drax grinned, and complied, and afterward he slept soundly, knowing he'd been forgiven.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for the song belongs to CocoRosie.


End file.
